


Desert Places

by apocryphalia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Porn, Crowley Tempts Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's anxiety, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Bondage, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Smut, mind the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/pseuds/apocryphalia
Summary: He watched the priest's delicate movements as he expertly broke the resinous seal on one of the jugs and poured two generous helpings of a pungent white wine. The man's fingers brushed against his own as he passed over one of the cups, and Crowley was shocked to feel his heart skip a beat in response. Oh, this particular temptationwouldbe fun.What if it wasn’t on the Garden wall that Crowley and Aziraphale met, but much later? Or: Crowley tempts a priest who turns out to be an angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 167
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	Desert Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hikaru9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/gifts).



> This is for [wargoddess9](http://wargoddess9.tumblr.com) for the 2019 Good Omens Holiday Swap! 
> 
> This one got away from me a little bit, and it hurts me not to give these two a happy ending, so I’m not saying that I _will_ , but I won’t rule out the possibility that I’ll write a sequel (or two or ten) to this at some point.

_They cannot scare me with their empty spaces  
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.  
I have it in me so much nearer home  
To scare myself with my own desert places._  
—Robert Frost, “Desert Places”

Crowley sauntered into the church in his finest—and tightest—tunic, ignoring the slight itch in the soles of his feet. Soon, enough humans would believe in the power of these places that he would no longer be able to enter them. But it was early days, and he was determined to have one last hurrah before the earth filled with consecrated ground and spoiled his fun.

A priest met him in the aisle. He was light-eyed, light-haired, with a soft round body and deliciously thick fingers ending in meticulously-kept nails. He did not look as though he belonged here in Antioch at all, but he was cute, in a rather frumpy sort of way. Crowley did not miss the flicker of the priest’s eyes over his fitted tunic, or the skin exposed by its wide neck and just-short-of-proper hemline.

“Can I help you, my child?” the priest asked, and Crowley smiled like a snake.

“I’ve been having… impure thoughts, Father,” the demon replied, slowly and deliberately dragging his gaze down the man’s body as he spoke.

He watched the bob of the Adam’s apple in the priest’s throat, the twitch of his fingers, the almost imperceptible reddening of his cheeks. "Why don't we speak somewhere more private?" the man suggested, eyes flicking anxiously toward the door of the church. "This is a delicate matter, after all."

Crowley grinned. “Whatever you think is best.”

The man led him through a doorway at the back of the sanctuary and down a dimly lit hallway. The room they entered was sparsely furnished, with only a few cushions on the floor and a large chest in one corner. The opposite wall was almost entirely taken up by a shelf containing an assortment of scrolls and several large jugs.

"Can I offer you any refreshment?" the priest asked brightly, crossing over to the shelf and fishing two cups out from behind a pile of scrolls.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Sure." He watched the priest's delicate movements as he expertly broke the resinous seal on one of the jugs and poured two generous helpings of a pungent white wine. The man's fingers brushed against his own as he passed over one of the cups, and Crowley was shocked to feel his heart skip a beat in response. Oh, this particular temptation _would_ be fun.

As they settled onto the cushions, the priest asked, “So what seems to be the problem…?”

Crowley didn’t miss the weighted silence at the end of his question. “Crowley,” he answered. “Well, Father…?”

“Aziraphale.” 

Crowley blinked. “That’s an unusual name.”

“So is yours.”

“Touché.” 

Aziraphale frowned at the anachronism, but didn’t comment. “So tell me what’s troubling you, Crowley.”

“Right.” Crowley leaned just a tiny bit closer to Aziraphale as he spoke, subtly edging into his personal space. “I met this… man. And I’ve been fantasizing about him. About all the things I’d like to do to him.” Crowley licked his lips and flashed a crooked grin.

“Have you acted on these fantasies?”

“Not yet, but I’d like to.” He leaned in another inch, staring at Aziraphale behind dark lenses, and then took a sip of his drink, careful to lean back just enough so that his tunic slipped up higher on his thighs.

“Well,” Aziraphale began thoughtfully, taking a long draught from his own cup as if trying to buy time to answer. “I don’t see that mere _thoughts_ are such a problem, if you haven’t yet taken any action.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses. “Do _you_ ever have thoughts like that, Father?”

The apples of his cheeks turned faintly pink and Aziraphale’s plump lips fell slightly open as he floundered for an answer to the question. It was rather charming, Crowley thought, in spite of himself. “Yes, certainly I have _thoughts_ ,” the priest said at last.

“But you’ve never acted on them?”

The faint blush on Aziraphale’s face deepened, and Crowley felt his own expression break into an astonished grin. “You _have_!” He couldn’t contain the glee in his voice.

“Well, I wasn’t always a priest, you know,” Aziraphale replied primly, shifting uncomfortably on his cushion. “Besides, the current philosophy of clerical celibacy is very recent, and not universally agreed upon.” The second statement tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, and now his face positively _glowed_ red. A strange sensation rose in Crowley’s chest, and he felt the gleeful expression on his face soften a little. Satan help him, he rather _liked_ this priest.

“So…” Crowley licked his lips as he debated how to address this new revelation. Finally, his own curiosity got the better of him. Temptation abandoned for the moment, he asked earnestly, “Do _you_ think acting on thoughts like that would be wrong?”

Aziraphale looked uncertain, some internal battle written in the lines of his face as he considered the question. “No,” he said at last, looking nearly… defeated? That couldn’t be right.

Crowley continued to look at him expectantly. Finally, the priest continued: “My personal feeling is that God created human bodies to experience pleasure, and human hearts to experience love. There is no purer expression of both love and pleasure than… well, making love. I don’t understand how it could possibly be wrong, although others have decided that it is.”

“What about lusst?” Crowley asked, leaning infinitesimally closer to Aziraphale as he spoke. He was now hopelessly intrigued by this priest, who seemed somehow both ripe for the tempting and completely incorruptible. “Isn’t that a sin? Sssex isn’t always about love, you know. Or even pleasure.”

“True,” Aziraphale said slowly, draining what was left of his drink before continuing. “But just because something isn’t universally good doesn’t mean it’s universally bad.”

Crowley nearly spit out his own drink. The priest rose from his position on the floor and crossed to the shelf where he kept the wine, carrying the jug back over toward their cushions this time. He lifted it toward Crowley, who nodded, and Aziraphale refilled both their cups.

“Do you believe in demons, Father?”

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation, and with such staggering confidence that Crowley was momentarily taken aback.

“Right, well, aren’t demons universally bad?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach. Why did that answer hurt? “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Well, demons go around tempting people to lust and having sex with them, don’t they? So it must be a bad thing.”

The priest raised his eyebrows at Crowley over the rim of his cup. “You seem to know an awful lot about what demons get up to,” he said dryly.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth several times in quick succession, a wave of panic rising in his chest. Then he saw the amusement in those blue eyes, the subtle tug at the corners of the priest’s mouth, and he burst out laughing. “Well you’re a right bastard, aren’t you, Father?”

* * *

After Crowley was gone, Aziraphale sat in the little back room of the church nursing another cup of wine and replaying their conversation over and over in his mind. There was something about the man that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that the eyes hiding behind dark lenses had been boring into something deep in his core as they spoke, and yet he felt strangely drawn to the dark stranger.

As he reflected on their interaction, Aziraphale found himself remembering the way Crowley’s long fingers clutched his drink, their smooth motions as he gestured with his hands. He remembered the strong line of his jaw, a flash of exposed throat when Crowley had tucked his long hair behind one ear, the long legs exposed by his slightly-too-short tunic. Aziraphale had watched the man’s mouth as he spoke, struggling to process the words coming from lips that he couldn’t help imagining locked onto his own throat. The way those lips said his title, though, had broken through his haze. _Father._ It was almost a taunt, but it was somehow impossibly endearing, and strangely alluring.

Aziraphale looked down at his empty cup and then around the room, realizing he had replaced the wine jug on its shelf after Crowley left. He blinked, and it appeared on the floor in front of him. He poured another glass and reflected on the direction the church was taking of late. It was not precisely his duty as a Principality, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, to correct the humans’ course, but he was growing a bit concerned over some of the scriptural discourse taking place throughout the remnants of the Roman Empire.

* * *

Crowley came back again the next day, and Aziraphale had to suppress the grin that threatened to overtake his features when he saw the already-familiar figure appear in the church doorway.

“Crowley,” he greeted him in the most neutral tones he could manage. “Good to see you again. Would you like to come to the back room?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow suggestively, but agreed without hesitation. He followed Aziraphale back along the corridor to the room in which they had met the day before, and this time Aziraphale did not ask before opening a fresh jug of wine and pouring two generous helpings. He passed one to Crowley and took a seat, motioning toward the cushion opposite him with his free hand.

“So,” the angel asked, once Crowley was settled in and looking over at him expectantly. “How have you been doing with the problem we discussed yesterday?”

“I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in my life,” he replied seriously, his veiled eyes boring into Aziraphale with an intensity that made the fine hairs on the back of the priest’s neck and arms stand straight.

Aziraphale swallowed. “And are you certain that these… feelings that you’re having are impure? That is to say…” He cleared his throat and took another sip of wine. “I believe I’ve told you that there is some disagreement among the scholarship and the clergy as to whether feelings of… attraction are truly sinful. Aside from your desire for this man, do you have ill intent toward him?”

Crowley grinned in a strangely predatory way that caused Aziraphale’s stomach to perform somersaults. “Oh, I have ill intent, all right.”

Aziraphale pulled himself together and sniffed derisively. “Meaning?”

“Err…” Crowley turned slightly red, a faint blush creeping from under the collar of his tunic that Aziraphale longed to chase with his tongue. Then he leaned in a little bit closer, lowered his voice, and grinned again. “Meaning I want to defile him, Father. I want to stick my cock up his arse and fuck him until he screams my name. I want to drink him dry. I want to cause him to take the Lord’s name in vain while his cock is in my throat.”

Aziraphale realized he had not drawn breath through this whole speech, and he now forced his lungs to take in air. He could feel his own face heating and his fingers shaking against the clay of his cup. Although he could not see Crowley’s eyes, he could feel that they were staring, unblinking, into his own, and he forced himself to maintain eye contact. After a deep, shaking breath, he replied coldly, “That doesn’t answer my question, _Crowley_.” He said the man’s name in the same tone he might have used to address a misbehaving child, and was surprised and delighted to see a subtle shudder run through his body.

After a long moment in which they stared into each other’s eyes, both nearly vibrating with the tension between them, Crowley finally dropped his gaze. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale relaxed, suddenly feeling sorry for the man before him. He had assumed this was some sort of a game to Crowley, but he seemed to be genuinely struggling with something after all. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and placed it on top of the one that Crowley was resting on the floor. Crowley started and snatched his hand back, unbalancing himself in the process. His drink nearly spilled—it _should_ have spilled—but the wine somehow found its way back into the cup, not a drop lost. A chill ran through Aziraphale. He had never accidentally performed a miracle before. Both men stared dumbly at the righted cup in Crowley’s hand. Then Crowley drained his drink and stood abruptly.

“Should go,” he muttered, and ran out the door.

* * *

Crowley paced the floor of his home, wineskin dangling from one limp hand. “Stupid, stupid,” he muttered.

This was supposed to be a straightforward temptation, a bit of fun that would earn him a little praise from Hell while he passed the time. And he certainly _did_ want to tempt the priest, even if not for the sake of doing evil. How had the man gotten under his skin so? How had he used his powers without meaning to, without even noticing? He had exposed himself now, and something needed to be done about it. He had probably ruined his chances of getting under Aziraphale’s frock, though, and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. Best to just get drunk for a week or two and try not to think about it, put off the inevitable decision-making for a later date.

Luckily, Crowley had his own considerable stash of wine. He tossed aside the empty wineskin, broke the seal on one of his largest jugs, and got down to business.

* * *

The next time Aziraphale saw Crowley, he looked rather the worse for wear. A wave of guilt struck the angel as he realized how shaken the poor man must have been by his bit of accidental magic. There was something guarded in the way he carried himself across the threshold of the church, something closed-off about the smile he flashed Aziraphale as he walked up the aisle. That distance shouldn’t hurt as badly as it did, but Aziraphale was shocked by the strength of his relief at seeing Crowley again after nearly a fortnight.

“Hello, Father,” Crowley said at last, in something close to his usual teasing tone.

“Crowley! My dear boy, are you quite all right? You look…” Aziraphale trailed off as he noticed the slack-jawed expression on Crowley’s face, and his own words caught up to him. It wasn’t _quite_ a term of endearment, but as casual greetings went, it was at least a millennium ahead of its time. Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat under Crowley’s gaze. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Crowley finally replied. “Listen, about the last time…”

“Don’t you worry about it!” Aziraphale answered, a beat too quickly. He grimaced. “That is… I apologize, it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“Right,” Crowley said slowly, clearly surprised by the response. “Don’t worry about it, Father. Not a big deal.”

* * *

Crowley continued coming back again after that, and the two soon dropped the pretense of Aziraphale counseling him through a spiritual crisis and instead settled into a routine of drinking and playful debate. One night, after a few too many goblets of a nice red from Aziraphale’s stash of wine, it finally happened. The priest was drunkenly rambling about _something_ , and rather than pay attention to what it was, Crowley had been edging closer and closer to Aziraphale as he spoke.

Abruptly, the speech stopped, and Crowley realized that he was mere inches away from the priest’s face. Pale blue eyes stared into his dark lenses as their breaths mingled in the suddenly tense air. Then Aziraphale’s lips were on his own, and an absolutely delicious sound came from somewhere deep within his throat. The kiss was hot and desperate, all tongues and teeth and roving hands. Aziraphale bit down on his lip, and a shudder racked Crowley’s body. He found himself on the floor with Aziraphale’s warm weight on top of him and no idea how they had gotten there, though he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When at long last they broke contact, both gasping for air they had simultaneously forgotten they didn’t need, Aziraphale seized the opportunity to use that mouth in other places. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s jaw, underneath the snake sigil, and licked and bit his way down the demon’s neck to the wide opening of his tunic. A singularly undignified sound escaped Crowley’s mouth as Aziraphale nipped above his collarbone, and those blue eyes finally rose back up to take in the sight of Crowley splayed on the floor, hair already becoming a tangled mess under his neck, lips red and swollen, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

The priest raised one hand to the side of Crowley’s face, lightly touching his glasses. “May I?”

Crowley swallowed and summoned the power to mask his slitted pupils as best as he could before nodding, clamping down on the fear that rose somewhere in his gut at the thought of doing _this_ without the smoky quartz to protect him. He considered saying no for a fraction of a second, but the fear that Aziraphale might stop was even greater. The priest gently slid the glasses from his face, and Crowley blinked in the surprising brightness of the room without them.

“Oh, they’re lovely, Crowley, why do you hide them?”

The demon growled and pulled Aziraphale back down on top of him rather than respond, sharp fingers scrabbling at Aziraphale’s back and reaching down to find the hem of his tunic and slip underneath. Aziraphale let out a small moan and then growled right back, taking Crowley’s arms and pushing them over his head.

“Not until I say so, dear,” he said sweetly, and Crowley could not believe the shock of lust that ran through him at this fucking frumpy priest holding him down, looking at him like _that_. He nearly whined, the sound catching somewhere in his throat as he swallowed it down, trying desperately to preserve the last scraps of his dignity.

The priest sat up, now straddling his thighs, and Crowley’s rapidly growing arousal throbbed as it met Aziraphale’s matching state through the layers of their clothing. Aziraphale untied the belt of his own tunic and held it up for Crowley’s examination, eyes flicking to where the demon’s hands still rested over his head. “Is this okay?” Aziraphale asked, voice low and thick with desire, and Crowley’s eyes went wide. He nodded, perhaps a little too quickly, and Aziraphale leaned down and tied his wrists together with expert motions.

This was _not_ what Crowley had expected when he decided to tempt the priest, nor even what he had expected after months of wine-drunk laughter and conversation with Aziraphale. This was, however, unbelievably _hot_.

The knots Aziraphale had made were quite secure, although Crowley knew that with his demonic strength he could easily tear through them. He made an emphatic decision not to, as long as he could help it.

Aziraphale sat up, straddling Crowley’s hips, and approvingly surveyed his own handiwork in a manner _most definitely_ unbecoming of a priest.

“Tell me again,” he whispered, bending once more to nip at Crowley’s ear, “what it was that you wanted to do to that man we discussed?”

Crowley gasped, his erection already straining under Aziraphale’s hip. “I said…” He swallowed hard and licked his lips, mouth suddenly very dry. “I believe I said I wanted to put my cock up his arse and his in my throat.”

“Good,” Aziraphale purred, stroking lightly down Crowley’s body, hands roving everywhere besides where the demon needed them most. “I think we should start with the latter.”

And then, the priest was pulling his clothing up over his head, still sitting astride Crowley’s own erection, trapped inside his tunic. Crowley felt his eyes go wide. He was already struggling to keep them masked, but the sight before him was enough to make him throw caution to the wind and allow Aziraphale to have his way with him.

The priest was now completely nude, a rather impressively-sized erection protruding from between his hips. Crowley’s eyes followed the soft curves of his body upward, taking in the sparse blonde hairs covering his stomach and chest, the delicious pink of his nipples, the red of his swollen lips, until finally they reached his eyes. The look of pure, unfiltered hunger he found there made Crowley’s already straining cock somehow harden even more.

And then Aziraphale’s hands were in his hair, and he was guiding Crowley’s head up and toward his own gorgeous prick. He paused just before Crowley’s lips reached their destination, and the demon nearly whined in protest, straining toward Aziraphale.

“You know you can stop me any time you want to, right?” Aziraphale asked softly, and Crowley glowered up at him.

“Fine, but I don’t wanna.” He reached out his tongue to lick the first drops leaking out of Aziraphale’s cock, and the priest fixed him with a stern look that he should have found exasperating, but which somehow went straight to his ever-growing arousal.

“Impertinent,” Aziraphale reproached him, pulling his head back so that he could no longer reach.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Crowley replied, the attempt at his usual light tone belied by the breathiness of his voice.

“Good.” Aziraphale brought him forward again, agonizingly slowly, and Crowley resolutely kept his tongue to himself until finally, _finally_ , the head of his cock brushed the demon’s lips. Crowley parted them obligingly, and allowed the priest to slide into his mouth. From below, Crowley could see Aziraphale’s eyes close and his lips part in an involuntary sigh of pleasure, and it sent a thrill all the way up his spine. Crowley tightened his lips around the object in his mouth, pressing his tongue up around the underside, and savored the sensation of Aziraphale gliding in and out, fucking himself with Crowley’s mouth.

The demon hummed his approval as Aziraphale thrust sharply against the back of his throat, and Aziraphale cried out. He was beautiful, Crowley thought, watching from below as a red blush began to spread across his neck and chest, and a faint sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. His thrusts became harder, faster, and more erratic, and his breathing quickened as Crowley continued to hum and moan in approval against his cock.

“Oh—God—yes— _ohhh_ ,” Aziraphale cried out with each thrust until finally, he spilled hot and wet against the back of Crowley’s throat. The demon swallowed it down, wringing out every last drop and drawing out his orgasm while Aziraphale clenched his fist in Crowley’s hair and shook against him.

When at last he finally pulled away, Crowley licked his swollen lips and grinned up at Aziraphale. “Told you I could make a man take the Lord’s name in vain with his cock in my throat.”

A smile tugged at the corners of the priest’s mouth for a moment, so brief that Crowley nearly missed it, and then he was wearing _that expression_ again. Crowley let out an embarrassingly loud moan without the priest having touched him at all, and now Aziraphale was grinning down at him, and was that a renewed erection he could feel growing against his hip?

“I thought I told you not to be impertinent, Crowley. Now you’re going to have to wait even longer to put that pretty cock of yours up my arse.”

Crowley strained against the belt binding his wrists, stopping himself just short of breaking through. “I’m sorry, Father. Please, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale ran the fingers of one hand lightly up Crowley’s leg and under his tunic, just barely pulling at the fabric. “Since you asked so nicely,” he said sweetly, “maybe I won’t make you wait _too_ long.” His fingers ghosted over Crowley’s erection, and then danced away before the demon could even attempt to get some friction. “But you’ll still need to be punished.”

Torturously slowly, Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s tunic further up his body, running warm fingers up Crowley’s feverishly hot chest. Every touch felt like a brand, and he had never been so turned on in his immortal life. The priest’s hand finally reached a nipple, and he took it between his thick fingers and squeezed, hard. Crowley cried out in mingled pain and ecstasy, and then that mouth covered his own again, swallowing down his screams, tasting the remnants of his own pleasure on Crowley’s lips.

By the time Aziraphale’s hand finally found its way down to where Crowley needed it, he was so painfully hard that he feared he might come the instant the priest touched him. Aziraphale stroked him with expert fingers, drawing out sounds that Crowley would never admit to making, like the demon was a delicate stringed instrument and the priest a master musician. All the while, his mouth stayed on Crowley’s, taking in his cries and what little breath he was capable of. When Crowley finally found his release, uttering incoherent prayers to Aziraphale’s tongue, the priest continued to stroke him through it, and continued, until unbelievably, impossibly, he was hard again.

Then Aziraphale shifted to straddle him again and positioned himself above Crowley’s renewed erection. He lowered himself down one glorious, agonizing inch at a time, using Crowley’s own release to ease his way. As he began to move, Crowley felt certain he would discorporate from the waves of sheer pleasure that washed over him, a sensation worlds better than he had experienced with any other human. Aziraphale rode him to one release after another, until finally, exhausted and sated, they both passed out still there on the floor.

* * *

Crowley awoke some time later, curled around Aziraphale. Moonlight was streaming in through the window and he could just make out Aziraphale's face by the glint of light off his eyes.

"Mmm," he groaned, stretching his limbs, and then froze. "'Ziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"How, er… how long were we…?"

He felt Aziraphale stiffen beside him. "Too long," the priest said slowly. "You're… not human, are you?"

"No," Crowley answered. "You?"

"No."

Aziraphale rolled away and Crowley could hear him shuffling in the darkness. After a few minutes, a torch caught flame and Crowley turned to see Aziraphale back in his tunic, staring at him with wide eyes from across the room.

"You," he breathed. "I remember you."

Crowley cocked his head to the side, racking his memory for any hint of Aziraphale prior to his first visit to this church. Then the priest continued, staring directly into his eyes, which Crowley belatedly realized were no longer covered or masked: "The Serpent… you're the Serpent of Eden."

 _Shit_. If Aziraphale had been in Eden, then he was an angel, and this temptation was much more serious than Crowley had thought. He should be proud to have successfully tempted an angel; he should already be sprinting to report back to Hell and rake in the commendations. But if he were honest with himself—and sadly, Crowley was terrible at being anything else—this hadn’t been about a temptation since their very first meeting. He felt wretched, and suddenly very naked. He searched the floor around him for his tunic and held it in front of himself.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, which had not left him since the moment the angel lit the torch. Aziraphale was looking at him like he was something poisonous. The expression lodged in Crowley’s throat and threatened to choke him. He felt like he might be sick. “It wasn’t… _like that_ ,” he croaked out in a pathetically small voice. “I mean, yes, it was a temptation, but I could have gone through with it and been done the first day we met.”

Aziraphale’s gaze was pure, sharpened steel, and Crowley’s world was closing in around him, narrowing only to those eyes and his own desperate need to take the hurt out of them somehow. “Why didn’t you, then?” the angel asked coldly. A shudder ran down Crowley’s spine at the edge in that voice, which he had heard singing so sweetly just hours before.

“I… don’t know,” the demon answered honestly, looking away, shoulders slumping. “I liked you,” he added, glancing back to see the same icy expression on Aziraphale’s face. “I just… wanted to be around you, not… I mean, _you_ kissed _me_ , for Go— _Someone’s_ sake!”

Aziraphale paused for what felt like an eternity in the deepest pit of Hell, crammed into the space between heartbeats. “I think you should go,” he said finally.

Crowley swallowed and nodded, righting his tunic and choking back bile as he fled.

* * *

The next time Crowley saw the angel, they were fleeing Antioch. Nearly a century had passed, and still something tightened painfully in his chest when Aziraphale fixed him with a distant stare, all traces of their old familiarity gone.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale acknowledged him coldly. “Was this your demonic work?”

They were standing outside the gates of the city, where the remnants of the imperial forces had recently returned bearing news of the approaching Arab conquerors. “No,” Crowley replied. “Why would I be leaving if it was? Besides, aren’t these invaders one of yours? Carrying the message of a prophet and all that?”

Aziraphale frowned, his distaste for Crowley momentarily forgotten. “You know, I really don’t know what their policy on the new sect is up there. But all this battle and bloodshed, that seems more like one of yours,” he added haughtily, straightening up and shooting Crowley a suspicious look.

Crowley choked down a laugh. “Angel, where have you _been? Your side_ drowned an entire civilization. Set cities on fire. Sent down the son of the Almighty to be nailed to a cross. Seems like battle and bloodshed are one of _yours_.”

Aziraphale stared at him. The shadow of some nameless sorrow passed across his eyes. Then he turned and lifted the pack he had been carrying back onto his shoulder. “Goodbye, Crowley,” he said softly. “Go well.”

“Where will you go?” Crowley asked around the heart that had suddenly leapt into his throat.

Aziraphale simply shook his head and walked away. Crowley stood and watched until the angel was nothing more than a dark spot on the horizon, and then until he was nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/apocryphalia) and [Tumblr](http://apocryphalia.tumblr.com) if you want to come screech about nerd shit with me.


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